THAT'S MY GIRL: A LEMON IN THREE PARTS
by lovinghannibal
Summary: Takes place immediately after Hannibal's escape in Tennessee. Modifies canon, placing Clarice in Bimini to aid the FBI in the search for Hannibal. When the FBI withdraws and Clarice remains, will our couple's obvious attraction play out the way Hannibal wishes, or does Crawford hold more sway over Clarice than the good doctor imagines? Sexual situations, of course! It's a lemon!
1. Chapter 1

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: I do not own the characters herein, only the plot device and dialogue. Hannibal and Clarice are the brainchild of the brilliant author Thomas Harris. I merely take them out to play.**

**Just a brief lemony interlude for fun as Hannibal plans the next stage of #NMSL! Enjoy!**

******THAT'S MY GIRL:**__A LEMON IN THREE PARTS

_**PART ONE: **_

Hannibal was well aware the FBI had long left Bimini. Clarice stayed, but he wasn't certain why. Not that he ever quite understood her motivations. She was a puzzle he hadn't tired of. Perhaps, he never would. It was more than a little unusual to be so captivated by the internal life of another.

Not only captivated. Preoccupied, actually. It was not only unusual, unheard of, really. Her life not only interested him, it concerned him. She'd been dragged to the island with much fanfare when efforts to track him proved unsuccessful. How dare they continue to use her in this way? It disturbed him to see her surrounded by agents and besieged by reporters. It was obvious such treatment would occur, but it didn't make it any less offensive.

Dullards all. They didn't care about her beyond what she could do for them. Why wouldn't they wring every last ounce of life from her? She'd become no more than a scent hound brought in to lead them to him. Bait, that's all the good she was to them. After all, hadn't Jack Crawford sent her into the dungeon armed with nothing more than a useless questionnaire, her bravery, and her innocence?

Her bravery. Crawford hadn't counted on that, had he? No, likely he hadn't, but taking advantage of her innocence, that was no accident. Crawford knew she would tempt him. Clarice M. Starling. The proverbial lamb led to the lion for slaughter. Starved for prey though he was, the lion wasn't tempted. Yes…they were dullards all. They had no idea it was his Nature to protect. Even now.

The absurd FBI dog-and-pony-show had withdrawn five days earlier. Crawford's press conference announced not only their return to the United States, but that Clarice was encouraged to stay. He touted that they were a tight-knit family, the bureau, and she'd need time to recover before reporting to her first assignment in Criminal Profiling. Bullshit. Not that anyone believed it. Hannibal obviously didn't. She'd soon be assigned to Jack Crawford. Assigned. She would be in the man's company daily. She would be used. Desecrated by one not fit to speak her name.

_You are far too special to be so used, my Clariiice… _

She was alone, now, wasn't she…alone and vulnerable? But a worm on a hook is as well, is it not? A worm is meant to tempt. A worm is watched. Was there such a plan, and if so, was she a part of it? Speaking to her face-to-face was the only way to tell. From scent alone, he would know. If he knew her mind, would he risk it? With so much to chance, the decision weighed heavy. After all, he could be captured. If he were taken, the trip back to Baltimore strapped to a handcart, his body swaddled in that godforsaken straitjacket, would prove trying. And that miserable, stench-ridden, mask…if it were placed once more, it could break him.

Break him? Impossible. Capture? Unlikely, if he prepared well, but it would be worth the chance for a possible life with Clarice. With Chilton gone, a repeat incarceration, though not sought, or desired, would be tolerable. After all, he had a host of new memories, memories that would serve him well. Severing the vocal chords before the smarmy man woke from the ether had been an inspired decision. The sight of Chilton's twisted face, no more than a mute mask, jaw dropped mouthing unutterable screams, was exquisite. The visage would be the source of endless hours of deeply engrossing, if not gross, entertainment.

Of course, remorse had not intruded. It isn't a sin to kill one who threatens or offends, is it? Hadn't this irreligious man spent years trying to break him? Years exulting his agony, yet he could not coax even a whimper from all that pain. Not a whisper of a moan was uttered to grant him satisfaction. No. When Hannibal suffered, it was silently.

His foe presented no such challenge, taking less than an hour to break. Perhaps with Christ his only witness, Chilton's unadorned anguish was immensely satisfying. His suffering sublime, the Catherine wheel had been an inspired method of execution. An envious man positioned higher than his gifts, he had bound Hannibal's limbs and subjected him to years of torment. The good doctor stoically endured the pain of infinite metaphorical cuts. Such allegoric agony, when applied in small measure to Chilton, a man as weak of body as mind, translated to mere hours in Hannibal's hands.

Perhaps, Clarice would ask about him. If she did, it could be assumed she'd remained behind to gather information or trap him. If not, there was hope and hope is a precious thing to a man denied such for so long.

He followed her day and night. Existing on the fringes of her life, the sight of her enough to satisfy, nearly. The patterns of her daily activities were far too exact to be accidental, were they not? Whether or not she was aware, her activities invited him. Eyes tracked every passerby, as she searched the crowds. There was nothing passive about her behavior. No. Clarice Starling, hopefully, contrary to the opinion of her soon-to-be-employer, was actively pursuing him, but to what end?

_They've gone, yet still you seek me, Clarice? Why…for them, or for you?_

Patience was the key. Watch. Learn her habits. Her daily trips to the beach, where her eyes focused overtop the book she pretended (unconvincingly) to read, ended exactly one hour before she took her nightly meal. Home to shower, she dressed in any one of a number of newly purchased island-chic dresses to visit the local five-star steak house. When finished, she scoured museums or attended whatever concert was offered locally. Even her accommodations appeared designed to spot him. She moved from the exclusive FBI-chosen resort, to a modest cabana-style hotel with more far foot traffic.

He visited her hotel room daily to gather information. Each time, without exception, he'd found the balcony door unlocked. Forgetfulness? Perhaps, if it had happened once or twice he would think so, but not every single day. Was it risky behavior? Tempting fate? Not Clarice. She was inviting him. By the third day he decided to accept the invitation. Daring more, perhaps, than he should, he sorted through her clothing and selected a modest silk nightshirt. Sinking his face within the garment, he breathed so deeply the fabric fluttered within his nostrils. He stroked it against the side of his face and imagined his cheek resting on the fullness of her breast. She was magnificent, his Clarice. His Clarice. Dare he? Yes.

He stretched the garment across her pillow, arranging the arms as if reaching for a lover. Still, anyone might be responsible.

_Shall leave a message for you? One you are certain to understand?_

He produced a silk handkerchief, folded an object within, and placed it on her bedside table. There would be no question. She'd know, but what would she do?

When he returned the following day, the cork from the bottle of Chateau d' Yquem he'd placed rested on her bedside table was settled between two flutes and a bottle of chilling champagne. The handkerchief was missing. Had she taken it with her? His scent was heavy on it. He hoped it that was the reason she'd chosen to keep it.

Propped beside the champagne, a note on which she'd written only four words. He read them aloud.

"You're safe. I'm alone."

Might it be an invitation to return this evening? Not the best of ideas perhaps, but the potential proved irresistible. He returned to his hotel, showered, dressed for dinner, and arrived in her room not moments before her return from the beach. She would need to shower. His heart raced at the thought, causing him to spare a moment to center his palm on his chest to still the beating.

_Clarice... _

Her scent wafted through the open window. Standing from the chair, he took a long stride, preparing to greet her in the center of the room. The moment the door opened, he held his breath and watched. Like his, her chest neither rose nor fell.

"I notice you hold your breath, as well, Clarice."

She stood so still, so calm as, eyes wide, she questioned, "As well?"

"Yes. Your beauty takes my breath away."

He took a step closer. Now within reach, for her ease, he allowed this respectable distance. She remained in place with her hand on the doorknob. "It didn't before."

_In or out, Clarice, which is it to be?_

"You left me breathless from the first moment I saw you. Unfortunately, until now, I couldn't act upon it."

Watching her as well as the door, all could be seen so clearly. The ocean breezes stirred as a late day storm began rolling in. The stiff winds swept over the threshold, carrying her hopeful scent. Inhaling the sweet musk was unavoidable, making her positively irresistible to him. So lovely, she wore a flowing skirt and a loosely knit sweater. The garment's neck had shifted slightly to reveal one shoulder. A bite would mark her alabaster skin so well. No bra, the halter-style strap of her bathing suit was knotted neatly behind her neck.

She watched him so intensely, her thoughts almost visible. It sounded as if caution wrapped each word, as she questioned, "Until now?"

_She seems hopeful, but unsure. Calm her._

He kept his distance. His voice lush, an effort to come across as non-threatening, he countered, "As I said before, though I have a preference, the choice is yours."

"Doctor, I…"

He interrupted, "I am a doctor, Clarice, but not yours. Please. Call me Hannibal."

"Hannibal? I don't know. It seems like it should be followed by the moniker, 'the Cannibal'. How about H? I think I could just about handle that."

A wicked smile slowly tugged at the corners of his mouth.

_The Cannibal. Charming. _

"If it pleases you, Clarice, I'm fine with, H."

The shift of her body caused him to blink. She released the door handle. Finally, decisiveness seemed to take control as she tapped the knob to push the door closed. The polished metallic slide of the latch assembly released the bolt into the strike plate. The sound caused a sudden flutter so low in his abdomen it surprised him. Did she know how much that act moved him? She'd abandoned her escape. He was alone with her. The trust implied, overwhelmed. She stood so proud, so brave, staring at him without fear, without anxiety. In fact, if there was any trepidation to be found in that room, it came from him.

More a statement, than a question, he whispered, "You're not afraid."

"Of you?" she laughed, "No. Not even remotely."

Sensing the truth, but wanting to hear it, he asked, "Not even remotely? Then why did you leave the door open?"

She crossed the room, swung her bag onto a large armchair, and stood beside it. He noticed she'd kept the same distance between them, but the fact that she moved away from the door, alerted him. Was it to illustrate confidence, or to allow access?

Placing a hand on the back of the chair for support, she reached low and removed her sandals.

"I wanted you to be able to see outside. Clearly. To know I hadn't called anyone. I'm not afraid. I didn't want you to be, either."

No surge in hormones. No deception. This is truth, for her.

"Nor should you be afraid of me, and yes, I will admit to my own, not fear…I'll call it, caution. As I have rather much more to lose than you, would you consider relocating? To my hotel rather than yours this evening? Dinner to start?"

As if fully ignoring his presence, she crossed her arms and gripped the edge of her sweater. Was she going to undress? Here? Now?

She paused, hands still holding the hem of the sweater.

"If dinner's how we start, how will we finish?"

Biting the corner of his bottom lip, his salacious wink probably told her more than he'd intended, but no matter. "I know how I would like the evening to end, but I won't make assumptions. As I said before, the choice is yours."

"Yeah, well, even though I'm hungry, I don't think dinner's on your mind any more than it's on mine. Not really."

He watched, spellbound as she lifted edge of the garment and pulled it over her head. Her auburn hair spilled from the shirt and tumbled across her now-bare shoulders. He gasped at the slight bob of her breasts.

She reached behind to the clasp at the back of her skirt. She wouldn't stop at the sweater. Now aware that Clarice would continue undressing, ever the gentleman, Hannibal turned his back. Clearing his throat, he responded, "No. Quite right."

He couldn't see her, but he imagined her smooth, creamy skin. She was fair. He imagined a galaxy of freckles to shower with kisses. Her breasts. Christ how he longed to free them. He imagined tugging at the ties of the bathing suit top with his teeth, to tease her silken flesh with tiny nibbles. His heart pounded. Lust brimming, he didn't move. Stillness seemed his only defense.

"I need a shower and just a head's up, I'm exhausted so I don't feel like going anywhere. Why don't you call room service and get us something to eat?"

A shower. He could hear his pulse in his ears. "What would you like me to order?"

"I'd love a big, thick steak. Mushrooms and onions, bacon, if they've got it."

"As you wish. If you'll allow, I didn't have time earlier. Might I check the bathroom before you enter?"

She chuckled, "So, you trust me enough to show up, but you don't trust me in the bathroom alone? What? You think Crawford is taking notes in the bathtub? Is that what you're telling me?"

Seemingly ignoring his concerns, she continued to undress. Hearing the lowering zipper and the swish of her skirt as she stepped out of the garment, a shudder ran up his spine. She was nearly naked, with no more than a bathing suit covered her. Christ. His body betraying his calm, he fought not to attend the flesh that crushed against his zipper.

"Being here, I risk spending the rest of my life behind bars, Clarice. Indulge me?"

"Are you kidding? My feelings for you aside, you're a killer. By inviting you here, I risked my _actual_ life. You don't trust me, there's the door. Hit the bricks."

He couldn't help but smile. She wouldn't concede to him. Not an inch.

_That's my girl…_

"_Hit the bricks?_ How charming. Shall I offer you a compromise? I'll give you my Harpy if you'll allow me to check the bathroom. That will offer equal protection, yes?

Protection. Truth be told, birth control was the only protection he was actually concerned with. Condoms would have been a presumption. When she'd tossed her bag onto a chair, he wondered if she had a small dial of pills in her purse. There were none in the room. He'd checked.

"You want to look in the bathroom, go ahead, but if I was setting you up for capture, would I be taking off my clothes and getting ready for a shower? No. Instead, I would have slipped my cuffs on your wrists and called for backup by now."

If he were judging from the sound of the clothing slipping from her body, she was down to her bathing suit by now. Not nude, but very nearly. It took every ounce of his self-control not to take her. He lowered his head and hissed, "And do you think I'd be that easy a capture, Clarice."

The sounds informed she'd tossed her clothing over her bag on the chair. The knot of the halter was next. The whisper as the straps were untied…she would lower them soon. His breath hitched as he imagined reaching to catch her breasts with his cupped palms as they spilled from the support.

"I know you distract the hell out of me. Smart as you are, I suspect the same is true of you. After all, you're only human."

Testing her mettle once more, he hissed, "That depends to whom you speak. I've been called other things, as well."

She laughed, "I don't care what anyone else calls you."

Not affected by the dungeon tones, it was becoming increasingly obvious she truly had no fear of him. That was an intoxicating thought, this small, spectacular woman, undressed, yet unafraid.

Her hair whooshed through the air. She'd been in the water today, the scent of salt reaching him low. She was bending over, now. The sound of fabric slipping over skin, the bathing suit bottom must be gliding down the length of her legs. Scents flooded the room as his eyes crushed closed, and his mouth watered. If only he could taste her.

"And what would _you_ call me, Clarice?"

He watched her eyes. She stared ahead, as if holding him whole in a glance.

"What's in a word? They're useless. Action speaks louder."

"Yours certainly speak to me, Clarice."

The air shifted, informing she was moving toward him. The scent of her want was as obvious as his. Although her instincts were advanced, his desire would be perceived subliminally. Hers twisted within his nostrils and settled on his tongue, flooding his mouth with desire.

_Christ. Get hold of yourself. Control. _

She stopped abruptly, her breasts grazing his back. The wafting air told him she reached out, but lowered her hand to her side before touching him. Why? Instead, she leaned, allowing the warmth of her breath to float across his neck.

_Enchanting._

Nothing masking the purity of her scent, her natural aroma was intensely appealing. So pure, only a hint of ocean kissed her flesh. Deep inhalations perceived the salted mist coating her hair. She'd been in the water, but had likely washed most of the salt from her body in one of the outdoor showers. Another intoxicating inhalation brought forth the fresh flush of desire. Her body signaled arousal. She was so close, one step, one small step and their bodies would be touching. Her breath lighting across his cheek caused the hair on his neck to stand, the reaction so intense even the hairs on his arms stood on pebbled flesh. Piloerection couldn't be controlled any more than a traditional erection, the latter far more uncomfortable, and becoming exceedingly difficult to contain.

Touching. Even the thought set his body was on fire. Free less than a month, his photograph was in every paper and every news broadcast around the world. It was too soon and far too dangerous to avail himself of a woman. High-end prostitutes, certainly an option for their quality and discretion, didn't appeal. No. He wanted Clarice. The question was, did she want him?

"Kinda funny that you're still hissing at me. Do you think I'm afraid of you? Is that what you want, my fear?"

The shudder that rolled through his body as her hands slipped around his neck from behind, was unavoidable. Her lips were at his ear, her breast pressed against his back. So warm…if he turned…

"Of the infinite things I want from you, Clarice, fear is not among them."

A hand slipped over his shoulder, smoothing a path along the tingling flesh from his chest to his abdomen. Her hand stroked the fine silk of his shirt just over his belly. So tantalizing.

The moment she drew the soft flesh of his ear into her mouth, his eyes, once more, fell closed. Christ. Steady yourself, for God's sake. No woman ever found premature ejaculation attractive. Focus. Breathe.

Emotions stampeded as her left hand pressed on the center of his chest. Long dormant sensations roused, and overwrought nerves burned from the intensity of the contact. Her touch became the center of his universe. It was self-preservation. There was no choice, really. Had he attended to the right hand pushing past his belt and slipping within his linen trousers, all control would have been lost.

As she tugged at the lobe of his ear, teeth grinding to provide the perfect balance of pain and pleasure, she whispered, "Of the infinite things I want from you, H, fear isn't among them either."

Her hand slid very slowly within the garment His head lolled back, resting on her shoulder. When had he become so incredibly conscious of his breathing? Reminding himself to inhale and exhale, he could feel her breasts heavy on his back. So gentle, her hand slipped lower still. His breath hitched, as he choked, _"Christ…Clarice…"_

Her voice purred in his ear, "Feels good, doesn't it, H?"

So overwhelmed with the sensations he felt nearly illiterate, he could only repeat, "So good…so good…"

She reached lower still. Oh, God.

_Breathe. Breathe_.

Each time her thumb stroked upward, reflexively, the flesh tightened. He strained for focus with each new touch. Though he was firmly trapped and becoming increasingly uncomfortable, he didn't complain. She tugged gently, but maybe perceiving how physically trapped he was, stopped.

"Help me with the belt, H. You're running out of room. We need to free you."

Free. He'd never felt it so keenly, as in this moment. His hands fumbled for the belt, quickly tugging the strap back to release the buckle. His fly open, trousers easily accessible, he reached back for her waist, smoothed his hands over her hips and spoke softly, "I'm yours, Clarice…all yours."

The moment her fingers closed around him, he held his breath. As she lifted, he instinctively moved his hips back, helping her to release him. A woman, his woman, was holding him, cradling him. Crashing waves of sense memories washed over him, threatening to overpower.

"Your hands are so warm," he hushed as her fingers closed to grip him. "Warm and soft."

She sighed. Why? Wondering what she was thinking helped his concentration. Think. Think of anything but the sublime movement of her hand. His heart thumped so wildly it seemed to careen untethered within his chest. Her hand…Christ, he needed a distraction. Quick.

"Talk to me. What are you thinking, Clarice?"

"That I'm sorry you've been alone so long."

"There's no need. You had no part in it."

"No, you did it to yourself. Still, with no privacy…" apparently unafraid, she continued, "I was wondering how often you allowed yourself to…" She didn't finish the sentence. She didn't have to.

"Not as often as my biology dictated, though when one sleeps, it becomes a moot point."

It might be an awkward conversation in this position if he'd had any reticence. No, modesty in regards to his body or sexual behavior hadn't been an issue in years.

Clarice rubbed her left palm across his chest, her right hand continuing to move, as well. She spoke softly, "With no privacy, cleanup must have been awkward."

He couldn't help but laugh. "Awkward? Yes, to say the least."

Her pace quickened. His chest heaved, body eager for release. He was silent, and allowed his hips just the slightest sway to meet her hand.

"Move, H. With me."

Breathing heavily, he lowered his head, answering plainly, "I can't. I won't last."

"I don't want you to last. I want to help you through this."

Help? This was the one thing he'd experienced plenty over the last eight years. Unassisted, he might have added if he wasn't so insulted.

"I'm not a _virgin_, Clarice."

She didn't make mention of the edge in his voice. "I know, but it's been nearly nine years. Trust me."

He nodded. Unexpectedly, she began bucking her hips, forcing him to thrust deeper within her closed hand. His body shook. Oh God. He wouldn't be able to hold this long. Panting, his breath huffed in quick gusts. Trembling, he struggled silently, as the rhythmic motion overwhelmed.

Without warning, she released him and urged, "Face me, H?"

The loss of her touch tormented as much as its presence. He whispered, "I told you…my control is..."

"I don't care about that. C'mon, H, face me."

Hannibal turned and she kissed him so sweetly, it was disarming. "Clarice, please…"

Dotting his face with chaste kisses, she consoled, "It's okay…it's okay. I know this is hard." She grasped his face, her thumbs stroking his cheeks, as she encouraged tenderly, "It will be perfect, but you're too quiet. I need to hear you. I won't know if I'm pleasing you if you're afraid to let me know, okay?"

"I'm not afraid. I've simply conditioned myself to pursue such activities silently."

"Microphones?"

"Cameras, as well. There was so little in my control, I made every effort to deny Chilton any knowledge of my sexuality. I'm a cannibal, not an exhibitionist."

"Fair enough, but no one is watching or listening here. If they were, you know I wouldn't be doing this."

She dropped to her knees to untie his shoes. "Let's get you undressed. We're in this together, right?"

"Yes. Together."

With her help, he stepped from his shoes and kicked them to the side. Together, they moved quickly, as he removed his shirt, she tugged his trousers and undergarments, lowering them together. He carefully stepped from his clothing. She stood and stepped into his embrace.

"I want to kiss you before, if that's okay."

Gripping her upper arms, he could feel the tone. She had a lovely body. Strong. Sleek. "Of course it's okay, but, before what?"

She smiled. "Before I get on my knees again."

Jesus.

The hitch in his breath surprised him nearly as much as her comment. Enfolding her petite body within his arms, he tilted his head and lowered it slowly to hers. The kissing began tenderly, but their want soon escalated their desires. Simmering passions surged. They held each other tightly, moans muffled by clamped, clutching mouths, tongues gently dancing, swirling in circles, entwining.

He was vocal now. She wanted that. She wanted to hear his pleasure and he was pleased. She grinded against him, his groans rumbled from his chest like low growls. It seemed to fuel her passions, each moan making her keening higher. Her sounds caused a burning low in his abdomen. His hardening body strained between them. As her body rocked against him, the intense friction made him reach for her.

"Calm down, H…calm down."

Calm? Hadn't she just been encouraging him to speed up?

His hands grasped over her body, finally clutching her hips, fingers digging deeply into the small of her back pulled her tightly against him. She pushed him away.

"My turn, H. You just go with it, okay. You'll have your way on the next go around."

The next? That was encouraging. Good. It wasn't just a one-off. Hell, if it were up to him, they'd be at this for the rest of their lives.

She reached toward the chair beside Hannibal, quickly grabbed a tufted pillow and dropped it on the ground. Realizing her intent, Hannibal stroked the small of her back and whispered, "Are you sure, Clarice?"

"Let's get one in the books so you're not stressed. When you're ready again, we'll take our time, okay?"

She lowered smoothly to her knees, her head bowing as she settled on the pillow. Unable to look away, when she glanced up, he nodded. "Okay."

Gripping him gently, she stroked several times. Biting his lip, control was nearly lost. Likely preparing, she turned her head to one side and whipped it back, flipping her hair from her face. Captivating. Scents and sounds mingled. His lust, held tighter to him than the straitjacket he so often wore, was unbridled for the first time in a decade. Every nerve electrified, colors seemed brighter, her hair, shining like copper shimmering in the sunlight. She leaned closer and looked up at him, her eyes wide and inviting. Her acceptance was a gift he hadn't expected. Watching closely, his heart pounded as her tongue slipped through her lips, moistening them. They'd wrap around him soon. The thought forced him slow his breathing to still his heartbeat.

"Are you ready?"

"Yes. If you're sure."

"Never been surer."

She blew him a kiss, his knees nearly buckling as her mouth bowed. And though he tried, he couldn't stop the low moan as her lips closed around him. Nearly bursting, his need was evident. It wasn't the first time a woman had serviced him so, but it was the first time he'd felt so utterly connected to a lover.

Lover. They'd spoken less than a handful of times, yet the truth of it seemed obvious to them both. She recognized the truth of it, or she wouldn't be on her knees before him now. On her knees, not a natural position for her, certainly. No, this submission was a gift. It showed her level of care, and, dare he say, her love?

Christ, her tongue. His mind was spinning. He steadied himself as she pulled back, her hollowed cheeks holding him firm.

_Hmmm..._

It wouldn't be long now. Would she allow him to offer the same? Christ knows the saturation of aromas allowed a preview of the taste. It would be heaven. When the time came, he wouldn't take no for an answer.

His hips swayed gently, meeting her. And though instinct told him to clutch fistfuls of her hair and thrust to his end, he stayed the urge. No, not Clarice, he could never use her in that way. He followed her rhythm, allowing her to guide.

When her hand joined, he bit his lower lip, the pressure beginning to build. The heat gathered low, the fire growing in his belly, her mouth stoking the flames. Though he wanted nothing more, he was careful not to grip her head.

She reached down and cradled him, squeezing just enough to send his blood pressure soaring. He'd never had a woman handle him this way.

"Clarice…soon…soon…"

She nodded, but didn't respond beyond that.

Gulping hard, the pressure building, he urged, "_Christ, Clarice_."

He doubled over slightly, resting a hand on the chair beside him to steady himself. His groans barely covered the long unheard sounds of sex. Mesmerizing, these sounds of life and of lovemaking, sounds he never thought he'd hear again. The experience was overpowering. And the sensations, God…the sensations radiated through his body. He was on fire.

"Clarice…now…"

She gripped his hips and held so tightly, it was obvious she wouldn't let go. The surge rose quickly, still, she held him close. Throes of his passion were so powerful, the force nearly buckled his knees. Breathe. Breathe. Even the aftershocks were more pronounced than he remembered. _Everything_ was more pronounced than he remembered. Finally, he guided her to stand. Sweeping her in his arms, he carried her to the side of the bed, lowered her and took his place beside her. For several minutes, he held her. Neither spoke. Instead, together they waited for his body to be ready. They wouldn't wait for long.

_**Until the next chapter, my friends, **_

_**LH**_


	2. Chapter 2

**THAT'S MY GIRL: PART TWO**

Sated for the first time in nearly a decade, Hannibal drifted to sleep. Not deeply, he roused each time she moved, curled against his body as he rested on his back. His back. The bunk he'd called his bed was barely more than a metal rack with an underrated pad. Not a mattress, by any one's real estimation. Just enough to protect his body from being punctured by the creaking springs. This bed was comfortable. Being with a woman, this woman, was comfortable. Becoming accustomed to this could prove dangerous. _She _was dangerous.

"H…you awake?"

She trailed her fingertips from his chest to his belly, softening with the comfort of the moment. Controlling his breathing became an instant concern.

"Yes, Clarice. Is there something I can do for you?"

_Lower, Clarice…Please… lower, still. _

As if he'd said the words aloud, she finger-walked down his abdomen approaching his groin. His member stirred, rolling slightly, awakening to the hint of contact.

"Maybe. Or maybe there's something I can do for you."

He held his breath as her right leg slipped over and between his. Hooking her ankle around his, she wrapping lower leg around and pulled them apart. Long without, his recovery time was impressive. He'd be ready for her soon.

Closer, Clarice…just a bit closer…reach, touch me.

Exhaling slowly, he watched her index finger twitched, stretching toward his manhood, promised heat of her fingertips electrifying his body.

Boldly considering his body, she didn't shy from his attention.

"Almost ready for another go, huh? You're impressive for a man your age."

"Before this night ends, Clarice, you'll gladly remove the age qualifier from that sentence."

Her laugh was pleasant.

"I'm sure I will. No offense."

"None taken, though the challenge is accepted."

The pad of her finger glided over the smooth surface of the tip, flaring at the touch. The growl could have been avoided had he wanted to hide his response, but he did not.

"You're a man of many well-known gifts, H, but this one was kept well under wraps."

"In certain circles. Dr. Chilton paraded me about when it suited his grotesque sense of power, observers in the shower rooms and the like. He was quite aberrant, accepting compensation, no doubt, to satisfy the curiosity of others. Many voyeurs found their way into the dungeon. Not that I cared. Their petty perversions had little to do with me. But, yes, I did maintain as much privacy as possible in such circumstances. Because I didn't have access to a woman didn't mean I would become a drooling sex fiend, much to Chilton's dismay, I'm certain."

"He made a pass at me. Creepy bastard. He's dead, right?"

Her eyes told all, curiosity, shining behind brilliant eyes.

"Quite."

"I thought as much. Will they find him?"

"No. Never."

Her confidence shouldn't have been as surprising as it was. No, it wasn't just confidence, was it? She'd shown that presence, that power, even on their first meeting. Not yet the lioness she would become, but this cub had all the tools, all the traits of such magnificence already within.

_She is reckless to trust so much, to be so confident of her power with me, over me._

Was the sex a way to get information? It didn't seem like her. She wasn't that easy a read, more complex than an opportunist, certainly. Would she pursue it if he opened the door? He had to know.

"Is there anything else you wish to know, Clarice?"

"About what? Chilton?"

"That, or anything else?"

"No. Doesn't matter how or when he bought it. The fucker deserved it. If one of you had to go, I'm glad it was him. Why? Are you worried I'm on the job?"

"You did graduate. You took your oath."

"Yes, but I don't start for another two weeks. I'm not on the payroll yet. This is my vacation. Can't make any promises after next week, but I'm not on the clock or you'd be in cuffs by now."

Leaning close, her nose tracing the sensitive flesh tickled his ear. Tickled. Had he ever been, before? If he had, it was at a time and place long gone from him. Her nose traced the sensitive flesh beneath his ear.

Thumb circle the tip, she very slowly closed her hand around his member and squeezed very slowly.

"So…for the next week, at least, who do you belong to, Hannibal Lecter?"

The pressure continued to build, his pulse throbbing within her grasp. It wasn't comfortable, but it wasn't quite uncomfortable either.

Her quest for ownership of him, this testing of her claws, was as charming as it was erotic, and her scent. Christ, the sweet musk flooded his nostrils, settling on his tongue much like a prized liquor, so smooth, and sensual. The drive to taste her skin caused a thumping low in his belly, the urges primal and raw. Turning his head, he tucked his face alongside her neck. Nibbling at the tender skin of her throat, he managed between bites, "You. I…I…belong…to you."

Stuttering, he wasn't tentative in his reply, but the pressure of her grip, now moving in long strokes up and down his body, was more intense than expected.

Turning her head to expose her throat, she encouraged, "You're amazing, do you know that?"

It seemed an odd thought, but then again, it was her unpredictability that was intriguing, wasn't it?

He mumbled against her flesh, "Amazing? How?"

The way she looked down along their bodies was erotic and bold. He didn't dare to tear his eyes from her face and neck. Looking upon her breasts, or, even more so, her sex wasn't something he could spare. Control would come, but more than eight years without a woman can certainly make one far too eager. Some things are best left to another time. That she was curious and comfortable was thrill enough.

"Don't know exactly. It's just that…everything they all believed about you…you're proving it all wrong."

_What?_

"It isn't as if Dr. Chilton, or good old Jackie-boy would be allowed this level of intimacy, Clarice."

She laughed out loud. Thankfully her hand didn't stop.

"That's what I mean! You're funny…really witty. You're not what they think, what anyone thinks. You're not."

"And what do you think of me, Clarice?"

"I think you're a singular human being. Evolved. You are what everyone will be some day. Another leap in human evolution, not we'd live to see it."

Good. Talking was good. The distraction. Her hand. Christ, her hand. And the scent, so lush he could taste her now. Taste? Would she allow it?

She began turning her wrist slightly on each upstroke, squeezing tighter as her fist reached his base. His breathing was ragged, each exhalation fraying slightly. Composure, as well as control of his heartbeat didn't elude, but he was allowing it free rein.

Her hand tugged forward with such pull, his breath hitched twice.

"You okay, H?"

"Magnificent, Clarice. Continue…please."

"Yet you didn't let on. Not in Baltimore. You were more emotional, it seemed, in Tennessee, or maybe it was hard to tell from behind the glass, you know?"

"Yes. Yes, I know."

The way she smiled…and her laugh. It pleased in ways never thought possible. Memories of home and of family long lost came to mind. Odd. Why would that be?

Relaxed, her hand found a slow, rhythm. Even with the intense contact, the squeezing, near relentless grip, she handled him with care. His eyes crushing closed to hold back the rising orgasm, purples and deep reds swirled in his mind. Her gentle southern lilt speaking so quietly his heart raced, the beat galloping and punched each stroke within his chest. His body began to tremble. He wouldn't last long on his back. Not like this. He shifted onto his side and looked to her for guidance. Widening clear blue eyes held his whole. The tenderness was compelling, their budding intimacy more thrilling than he might have admitted.

He reached for her hips, pulling her close, his fingers kneading into the muscles of her buttock. Lean. Strong. Made for him, he'd convinced himself.

"What surprises you most, Clarice?"

Eyes shifting to his chest, her hand slowed. Thinking, perhaps? Did the question offend? The answer came in the form of kisses placed over his quickening heart.

"Relinquishing power doesn't seem to bother you."

"I would not have survived the past eight years if that had been a concern."

"I guess you're right. Chilton called you a…"

She stopped.

"Finish your thought, Clarice."

"He called you a monster. They think you're emotionless. You're not."

"No, not emotionless, though I do maintain control where most do not."

"Even so, you're more relaxed than I thought capable. I'm just really surprised. I didn't think you'd be so comfortable accepting a role that's more…I don't know. Forget it. I don't know what I'm talking about."

"Clarice, you know exactly what you're talking about but seem hesitant to fully express it. Why do you feel the need to censor yourself? Speak your mind. You're safe here."

"Of course I'm safe. It's my hotel room."

Clever girl.

"I meant safe in my arms, Clarice. What word were you about to use, but thought better of?"

"I don't know. Submissive, I guess, but not in a subservient way. Passive, taking a less active role now, even though it's been so long for you."

"I want this to last, Clarice. Were I to take the reins, it would, no doubt, be over far sooner than we might prefer."

"Maybe…I want you to know I'm touched and…well…a little overwhelmed you'd allow it, actually."

"Overwhelmed? In what way?"

Again, tender kisses to his chest.

"Hmmm…you're quite the surprise as well, young Starling."

Her teeth scratched his flesh. Intentionally?

"Not so young, H."

Her hair had the scent of the ocean trapped within. Smell was the scent he'd missed most of all. The institutional scent of the dungeon, the blend of industrial cleaners, the dank mold of the basement combining with stale urine and fecal aromas of the unkempt inmates around him forced him to suppress the depth of each inhalation. Now, each inhalation broadened his chest, the aroma of their lust filling his soul.

"Forgive me, I didn't mean to offend."

She nodded.

The bob of her head, lips so full, the sensual upward curve tucked just under his nose as she captured his upper lip. Crushing his eyes closed, he forced away the sense memory of her mouth on him the last time her head moved so.

"No, I get it. You're older…more experienced. You're like this lion of a man who could kill me with a swipe of your hand. I know…" Her mouth grazed his pectoral muscle. Lips parting, the bite she placed, though not expected, was met with a low rumble as she continued, "…but I've got teeth too."

That she put it in that context, a lion, even as he imagined her a cub, revealed their connection.

Her free hand skimming his chest distracted her. Seeking her eyes, he tipped her chin.

"You are discovering your power, are you not? Testing it? On me?"

"I don't know, H, am I?"

"Yes, I believe you are and it is a compelling thought, isn't it? That as I begin my journey to freedom, I might provide a gateway in your own journey, as well?"

She hummed, but didn't look up. Thankfully, her hand began to move once more.

How can everything in your body tighten and relax at the same time?

Mouthing the muscles on her shoulder, the urge to bite was too much. Teeth closing, the way she moaned as he bit down was irresistible. Tingling nerves fired. Taste, scent, textures and feelings, all new, created pathways in his memory he would revisit often.

"I wonder…would he accept the same submission from me, or would you think it a sign of weakness?"

"No. Not weakness. A gift."

"Why gift me with submission? We both know you could tear me apart if you wanted, physically…emotionally."

"I could to so many others, with relish, in fact. But that isn't what I need from you, Clarice."

Pressing backward with equal pressure, each stroke was tantalizingly slow, sensual. Her hand met his body once more at the base. Her fist tightened, the pressure increasing with each erotic pull and push.

Gasping as she pulled her hand forward, was unavoidable.

"Pain? But…you seemed to like it."

Whispering encouragement, he hushed, "Yes…so sweet."

She stopped. Christ. Saying it aloud wasn't his intention.

"I'll stop if I'm hurting you."

Christ, no. Don't stop.

"A degree of pain is a pleasurable, don't you think?"

"Yeah…I can understand that."

She either felt the same, or recognized his body's response to the heightened contact. Too close, distractions were needed.

"What else do you understand? What does my behavior tell you about me?"

"Your compliance. Is it your way of telling me something?"

Brilliant. Nuzzling his nose along the side of her face, he whispered, "Yes, that no matter who is in control of whom, you're mine. From this point forward, no matter where you are or who you're with, you'll always be mine."

"Am I? Okay. Then, by extension, you're mine, too, aren't you?"

"Though time and circumstance will separate. Always…"

"Always? That's a hell of a promise you're making, H…Forever? Not gonna change your mind?"

"I shall never retract that. Without thought or qualification, Clarice. Forever is not negotiable."

To show such unequivocal strength might be risky, but she didn't seem one to shy from risks. Would the emotional joining or the physical stress her more? Would either cause concern?

Sucking and chewing at his flesh, she alternated hard, teasing, bites and tender kisses.

Blood pulsing within her grip, his body throbbed. The increasing pressure of her fist caused his heart to race uncontrolled. It was a freeing thing, to feel such unrestricted pleasure. His heart pounded against his sternum, the excited flutter in his belly matching its fevered pace. And he not only allowed it. He encouraged it, even as his adrenalin surged. Could she taste his want? No. Not in the way her desire settled on his tongue, watering his mouth.

"I need you, Clarice."

"I need you too, H." Speaking low, the sensuality of her voice was as intense as her grip. With each long, exaggerated pull came a demand, "Do you want to be inside me?"

Christ.

"If it pleases you, yes. Yes, but not first. Not first."

"Okay. First things first, who…am I?"

Each word preceded a harsh inhalation, the stagger of his answer mirroring each long, glorious pull.

It didn't matter. Breathing was proving difficult enough. He would have been unable to voice the poetry singing in his mind. Another time, perhaps.

"You are…Special…Agent…Clarice…M…Starling."

The groan as he spoke her name couldn't be helped, not that he would have. Expressing his pleasure vocally appealed to his primal nature. And she loved it, didn't she? Each sound, each emotive groan and growl encouraged her a similar sound from her. And the sounds she made…Christ. He was bursting to hold himself back.

"So, I'm Special Agent Clarice M. Starling? Hmmm…?"

Gaining confidence, the rough care with which she handled him matched her dominant, now tempting tone. "Is that really how you see me? Is that who you want me to be, Dr. Lecter?"

_Dr. Lecter? No. H…I'm H…_

The speed with which chin dropped to chest, surprised. It took several harsh breaths before, he huffed his response, "No…no…Christ…no…"

Her mouth was at his neck now. His strong pulse throbbed against her lips, tickling. Did the urgent beat of his heart match an equal the thumping between her legs?

He slipped his hand from her hip and glided it between her legs. Warm. Wet. Home. No woman stirred this need within him to please, to satisfy. Not too soon. No. He let his hand rest between her silky thighs. Parting the curls would be exquisite, but not without permission.

Between nips and nibbles, hand moving torturously slowly, she continued, "Whose do you want me to be?"

Her hand tightened so much around his phallus he felt the pulse of her inner palm tapping against his flesh. He felt stretched to his limits, so much larger than he'd ever managed on his own. Aching and taut from want, he spared to look down. Aroused fully, his body and mind screamed for relief.

Driving to the end he prayed would come, he bucked his hips, forcing himself further and further within her grip.

"Mine. I want you to be mine."

He was snarling now, and by the look in her eyes, she was as aroused as he. Two, maybe three thrusts was all he believed left to him.

Digging his fingers into her thighs he imagined blood vessels bursting at the touch. Planning to mark her more than once tonight he smiled. She'd have bruises here.

"Branding, H?"

"Does it bother you to be so marked?"

"No. It makes me want to do the same. It was hard to wait, wasn't it? Wondering if I'd let them leave, and wait for you to come to me. To see if I belong to them or to you?"

"Hard…so hard," he growled, "but you're here now, and you're mine. Not theirs. Not theirs."

"Mine. Possession. It's not only a masculine trait, H. I want to let the world know you're taken, too. Not available. Mine."

"Yes. Yours, Clarice, no one else's."

It was erotic, to hold her so close, to exhale slowly as she tugged at his ear, pulling so hard it forced from her mouth.

"Yours? You sure about that?"

Looking at her hand, his head bowed low. Her fingers were curled around his manhood. Possession, the thought made him burn with want. So hot, skin stretched to its limits, he was aroused to the point of bursting.

"It's gorgeous, you know?"

Was she talking about…no, couldn't be.

"What is?"

When she continued, there was little doubt.

"Do you have to ask? It's beautiful. Stands as erect and proud as you."

Remembering the feel of her tongue cradling the underside of his…Christ…the pulsing…the warmth of his release as he growled out her name. And she loved this, didn't she? His concession added to her excitement. True, she was in control now, but it would be his turn soon enough.

"Christ, H…is this all for me?"

"For you…only you…"

"It's mine?" she whispered, "All mine?"

With low groans that sounded more like growls than anything approaching human, with each thrust of his hips into her hand, he answered, "Yours…all…yours…"

"I know…now I need to learn what you like, yes?"

"Yes…yes…"

"Lets try this…"

His body shook as Clarice gripped tightly and rolled her thumb in small circles overtop, gathering the slick fluid now beading uncontrollably.

"Clariiice…Christ…Christ…" he stressed as his breath huffed, his body continuing to shudder.

"It's good, isn't it, H?"

From the raging pheromones swirling around his head, the dizzying release of all manner of hormones and adrenaline, stalling his release seemed to increase her pleasure. He knew it increased his. Bearing down, he sucked the left corner his lower lip into his mouth and bit hard.

"Yes…yes…"

"Your lips, they're softer than I'd imagined."

"I'm starved…let me taste you… any bit of your flesh."

She turned toward him, his shoulders now resting against her breasts as he searched her mouth. Nibbling her cheek, his teeth dragged along her jawline, his mouth clutching at her face. Lower. He needed to get lower.

"Slow down, H. Slow down."

He captured her lip, sucked it into his mouth and nibbled at the fullness of flesh. The teasing bites tickled, causing Clarice to giggle. Half-mumbling, she joked, "I guess you like to bite, huh?"

Her lip now held between his, he agreed, "Umm-hmm."

"Good. I like being bitten. Guess that proves I'm meant to be yours, yes?"

He nuzzled his nose along the side of her face, and urged with a playful hiss, "You're mine, _Clariiice_…you've _always_ been mine."

That dungeon tone, playful though it was, caused her heart to pound. He could feel its thump against his body and imagined her sitting on the floor across from his cell. He sat in the darkness feeling as if he could read her mind. Did she know, even then, he felt this way? Well, if she did, it didn't matter. His heart was pounding too; she could feel it, no doubt. Incredible. Her left hand settled on his chest, the wild thumping bumped against her palm. And he allowed it, didn't he? For once, he wanted to be out of control. Freedom. He wanted freedom.

She encouraged, "If I'm yours, show me."

The motion of her hand and the scents of lust swirling, had lulled them both. Hypnotic, wasn't it, this dance on the edges of ecstasy. Obviously moved, Hannibal's head tipped back to rest on her shoulder. His mouth dropped open, the sigh audible, as he hushed, "You'll have to stop."

Slowing, her hand, she questioned, "Stop this? You sure?"

He nipped at her mouth and groaned, "Yes, Clarice. Stop."

Her hand stopped moving, but she didn't release him. Instead, asking, "Why?"

Reaching back, he grasped her hips, pulled her tightly to his body and growled, "I'm starved. Allow me a taste, Clarice, yes?"

"H…I don't know…"

"You're not obliged. Have there been others? You seem…put off."

"I accommodated a guy…Pilcher…he worked on the Buffalo Bill case. But when it came time for his turn…well…he fumbled around with his hands, made a half-hearted effort with his mouth…it was…it was mortifying."

"Clarice, perhaps when your young man, foolish as he was, took his place…perhaps you might have imagined grasping my head. Seeing my eyes peeking up from between her thighs."

"Yeah…I have…I have…"

Hannibal removed her hand from his body. Stepping over her carefully, he slipped off the side of the bed and kneeled. Taking his place beside her, it was as if were praying at her bedside.

"The image has been burned in my mind. Yours, too, from the way you now squeeze her thighs together. You're wet, Clarice. There was no way to hide it from me. I am not that average boy. I am not that inexperienced whelp. I am a man and I wish to take you in that way, if you'll allow. Will you, Clarice?"

Grasping his shoulders, she turned toward him.

"Okay…okay, I'm in your hands now, H."

* * *

His eyes were intense, a little scary, almost, but his voice was satin. Smooth.

"Do you trust me, Clarice?"

Shouldn't I? No. Probably shouldn't have. No one knows he's here. Kind of stupid, in hindsight, but, thankfully, the sociopath was proving to be the most honest man she'd ever been with. Christ. She'd have to start choosing better lovers after this. He's be a tough act to follow.

"Yes. Why?"

"Because discomfort and desire are inextricably connected. When properly exerted, pain can be intensely erotic. Gentle or not, you decide. Choose, Clarice."

His voice was no more than a low rumble now, like thunder rolling through darkening clouds. His lips were well formed, elegant and full. Just the thought of his mouth, his sensual mouth closing over her body, his tongue darting out to trace across such sensitive flesh, set her body on fire. The man who graced her dreams and haunted her nightmares, Hannibal Lecter, was now naked at her bedside, and his only expressed intent was giving her pleasure. That thought was both exciting and terrifying.

As he waited for her answer, his hands traced up and down the outer muscles of her arms. Would he worry she might be afraid? No. He'd sense that in a second.

"Rough or not, either way, I'll be fine. You'll take care of me, won't you?"

"I shall handle you with the same rough care with which you handled me. My experience was only heightened by your care. I'll offer you the same stimulation, if it's something you want."

The moment she let go, he took immediate control. With his eyes fierce and his lips parted, he spun her body and flipped her face down on the bed. Tugging gently, he led her to place her feet on the floor. Tucking a pillow in front of her, he bent her body toward the bed.

"Comfortable?"

"Depends on what you're about to do."

"One mustn't tell. It spoils the surprise."

Wrapping an arm around her waist, he firmly placed a hand on her back.

"Lovely, Clarice. Your body…your scent…magnificent. You are stunning, dearest Clarice. Do you know your beauty, I wonder?"

On his knees, he wrapped his arms tightly around her thighs and pressed her legs together. The position presented her plainly. He could feel the tension gathering from her muscles.

"Feeling exposed, Clarice?"

"Yes…yes."

"Thrilling, isn't it. I have you. You know what I want and I know what you want, but you have no idea how I intend to deliver it. Your mind is in free-fall wondering when my mouth will close over you, when the flat of my tongue will send your body reeling and you urging completion. Shall I deny that relief, Clarice? Shall I make you beg for it?"

"We'll both be begging in the end if it's good, H…won't we?"

"Yes…yes…"

Bowing before her, she gasped as his mouth covered her body. Tender kisses strategically placed, her gentle keening urged him on. Teasing the lips with his teeth, his tongue stroking the tender flesh with long, sensual sweeps. Deft brush of his thumb upward parted the curls and lingered, rolling slowly. Listening to her breathing and the shift of her hips as she chased each new sensation, she was easy to read. Trembling, her body clutched the pillow, her breath huffing in harsh puffs into the cushion.

"H…H…more…more…so close…more…"

Delving deep, he moaned within her lips, his hand chasing each stroke of his tongue. Her first orgasm came quickly. The contact new, the intensity of the experience was no doubt overwhelming. Her legs quaked, hips rocking backward greedily pursuing each sensation.

His voice raspy with want, he whispered, "Clarice. My beautiful girl, so pure, you move me in ways I never dreamed possible."

She gasped, "You too, H…you too."

"I'm heartened to hear it. I'll enter soon, Clarice, but not too soon, hmmm?"

"Soon…please…soon."

Returning to his pleasure, he wrapped his arms around her thighs, hugging them closed. Low groans muffled against he body as he hungrily mouthed the swollen flesh. Pressing his face tightly to her body as he could manage, his tongue stroked as he pinched the flesh at the apex.

Clarice shouted, "Oh…God…oh…H…Jesus…Christ…H…"

He was growling low, and wondered if, in her mind, scenarios, and exchanges slowly unfolded. Fucking her. It's all he could think of and he suspected the same of her. The way she leaned against him, grinding her hips to drive her sex against his face, her arousal wasn't a question. His own excitement caused him to double over, covering her back.

"You want me, H. I know it. You need to drive our body within mine, to have your heat fill me? It overwhelms me, too. Please. Soon."

Yes. He'd take her soon. He'd have to. Waiting was killing him.

Her legs were squeezed so tightly, her lips pressed together. Stroking his fingers, teasing the outer folds, he turned them slightly, teasing within. Her hips drove backward in an attempt to take him in.

"Christ, Clarice."

"H…hurry, hurry, now…please, H."

"_No_."

"Nothing would please me more than burying deep and thrusting to our end, but this must be enjoyed, Clarice. I'm feasting on your very essence, Clarice. It isn't to be taken lightly."

Instead of stopping, he dragged the flat of his tongue upward, lapping with such zeal she moaned. Another orgasm. She was a treasure, his Clarice. The sounds of blooming rapture were so stirring he quickly reached to grip his base to stall release. Rapturous thighs trembled, as she leaned over the mattress and moaned out his name.

As impassioned lips quivered, his mouth flooded with her passion. Luscious, sweet desire coated his tongue and poured down his throat, his jaw working against her body to catch every drop. The thought occurred that if he drank nothing else in this world, this would be enough. He hummed his pleasure, the vibration causing her to shudder against his mouth.

Nipping at her tender flesh, biting down, he spoke softly, the hush of need coloring his tone, "So swollen…so lovely, that your need matches my own. I'm going to enjoy this, Clarice, perhaps for hours."

"No…too much, H…too much…"

"Never. I shall never have my fill of you."

He dragged the flat of his tongue along the seam, slipping and turning it deftly within. Her body trembled, hands gripping for any handful of blanket, any pillow within reach. A hissing sound told him she'd sucked her lip into her mouth. He couldn't help but smile.

Placing kisses along her thighs, he whispered, "Hmmm, so lovely, your reactions. Thrilling for me, as well. Was this a new sensation, Clarice?"

Her breath huffed, response timed with each upward stroke of his tongue.

"Very…new."

"Magnificent."

She'd never been taken in this way. Not successfully. That pathetic attempt by Pilcher, whomever the hell he was, didn't count. She hadn't achieved orgasm with him. He was first. _Mine._ That thought hardened him further, his member bucking against his belly, twitching with each moan, each blissful sigh.

As vocal as she, he couldn't help moaning his pleasure. The tastes, the sounds, the sensations, enhanced the experience. The rhythm was mercilessly slow, as he intended. Earlier, she'd tempted him, by holding him on to the edge of orgasm, and he'd loved it. Perhaps the same tantalizing treatment would appeal? Chasing the sensation, she rocked her hips toward him.

"Clarice. You aren't to move, not to look at me, not even to open your legs as I enter you. Agreed?"

Her head nodded. Was she as desperate for this as he?

"Agreed."

Though her response was affirmative, still, he listened to her breathing for clues. She was near breathless, now. Not quite panting as her latest orgasm waned, but her respirations were stressed. The position he'd put her in, bent over the bed, her hands gripped the mattress and pillows for stability, added to the stress. A deep inhalation brought a myriad of scents. Arousal, anticipation even, but no fear. Good. Shared stress heightens the experience.

"Oh…H…Christ…what are you doing to me? Hurry."

He paused. He had to. He couldn't stop smiling.

"I'm about to have my way with you, but if you have any complaints, I can stop."

She looked back over her shoulder. "Christ no. No…no complaints, but if you stop, I swear to God, I'll kill you."

He laughed, taunting in return, "You looked, Clarice. That is against the rules. A penalty is in order. Half-speed…for now."

"Oh, God…you're killing me, H…you're killing me…"

"I'm a killer, Clarice. You shouldn't be surprised."

He stood behind her and centered himself. Grasping, he stroked the tip from top to bottom. Preparing to enter her, the sensations, the sights, her body so ready and waiting for him, her thighs wet from want, overwhelmed him. Grasping himself with his right hand, he reached for her shoulder with his left. Before entering, he stepped back.

Clarice looked over her shoulder. By the expression on his face and the way he turned his head, nostrils flaring to gather any scent, he made no effort to hide his concern. Had she called? Had this been arranged all along?

"What's going on, H? What's happening?"

"Don't you know?"

"Fucking me and fucking with me are too entirely different goddamned things, H. What the fuck is happening!"

"We have company, Clarice."

"Do you know who it is? Tell me what's going on!"

She was anxious. Perhaps she didn't know.

Hannibal reached into his trousers, located his harpy and thumbed open the blade.

"Jack Crawford. He's about to knock on the door, Clarice. Would you like to handle it, or shall I?"

Clarice stood from the bed and grabbed fistful of every bit of clothing she could find. Tossing it into the bathroom, she rushed back and took the harpy from his hand.

"No. Don't do this. I know what you're thinking, but you're wrong. Please. She closed the blade against her thigh, bundled it into his hands with the remainder of the clothing and pushed him through the door and into the bathroom.

"You have no idea what I'm thinking, Clarice."

"You reached for that knife. I know exactly what you're thinking. You think I set this up. Wait. Don't do anything, H. Please, trust me. I know this seems impossible, but you got to let me get rid of him. Please. Nobody has to die. Let me do this my way."

As she tugged her sundress over her head, Hannibal reached for a washcloth and cleaned her quickly.

"What are you doing? I've got to get to that door."

"I'll not have your scent titillating that miscreant, Clarice."

"Thanks, H. Stay put. Don't move, okay?"

"I will remain still as long as I am not threatened, but if I sense duplicity from him, or there is any danger of capture, I will kill that man without thought or regret."

"Okay, H…okay…"

The knock on the door would bring an answer. Would it be the answer Hannibal hoped for, or would he wet his blade once more?

_**Until the next chapter, my friends!**_

_**LH**_


End file.
